


Avalanche

by Ninni



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark!Dean, Dark!Dean Winchester, If You Squint - Freeform, John deals with the aftermath of Sam leaving, M/M, Sam Winchester Leaves for Stanford, Unrequited!Wincest, dark!fic, dean/john - Freeform, dubcon, wincest of the daddy kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 04:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13605258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninni/pseuds/Ninni
Summary: When Sam leaves them, the grief doesn’t hit Dean like a gunshot, but like an avalanche.





	Avalanche

**Avalanche**

When Sam leaves them, the grief doesn’t hit Dean like a gunshot, but like an avalanche. The impact isn’t immediate; its threat only thunders in the distance: John can make out the outline of it like an enemy ship on the horizon and the only thing that changes are the lights behind Dean’s eyes – they go out.

John is tense with apprehension the months that follow. He follows Dean’s every move, every shift of his eyes, every clench of his jaw. He powers through dreadful months of Dean just going through the motions to the noiseless sound of highly strung denial - there is nothing but a cold, fury-ridden silence, a silence that _sings_ with ominous promise and _John_ , he -

 _He braces for impact_.

It comes down on them one night in Wyoming. The cabin is dark and candlelit because out in this wendigo-ridden forest the houses don’t even have electricity. Dean has hunched over the fireplace for a several minutes, trying to light the damn thing up with hands that tremble from cold and post-hunt adrenaline.

When the fifth match in a row breaks for Dean, so does he. Just like that, his head drops. His shoulders start to shake with uncontrollable laughter, and John feels the hairs rise on the back of his neck.  

“These fucking things are _shit_!” Dean screams, throwing the matches across the room. “This is _his_ job! It ain’t mine! Why the fuck isn’t he _here_?!”

Dean stares at John desperately, as though he’s expecting John to say: “ _Gotcha! Sam’s hiding under the bed!”_

Dean’s face bears an incredulous smile that looks like a horrible grimace, twisting his face into something that doesn’t look quite human. His eyes are wide and bare, open with a pain so raw that John feels himself visibly flinch. Dean howls: “ _Where is he? Where’s Sam!?”_

Dean sounds like a wounded animal, and John feels something break inside his chest because this is the first time Sam’s name has passed over Dean’s lips in months.

Since that night. Since, _“No Sam, I’m begging you, don’t leave, please Sam_. _”_

John can’t bear telling a lie, not to that face. His voice is rough, a low rumble, when he finally says: “He left, Dean.”

Dean crawls slowly towards him on all fours, eyes locked with John’s. “But you didn’t,” Dean murmurs as his hands come to rest on John’s knees. Dean’s face is a little wet with tears John doesn’t remember seeing him crying. Dean’s eyes linger on John’s mouth, his voice dropping: “You’re still here, dad.”

John goes cold, because Dean’s thumbs are warm and dangerous on John’s thighs, rubbing slow circles at the denim. “I’m here,” John murmurs, wrapping his fingers slowly around Dean’s wrists to gently guide him off his knees. “I think you need some rest, Dean.”

Dean leans forward, into the V of John’s thighs. John can feel his boy’s hips against his dick, and Dean’s mouth is warm and damp against John’s ear when he whispers: “Promise me, dad. Promise you won’t leave me like he did.”

John wishes he was anywhere else – he’d rather be out in the heavy snow fighting wendigos in the darkness than where he is now; trapped on a dirty couch by a boy so broken and full of sorrow that John could _smell_ the anguish on his neck. 

He wants to push Dean away. He wants to throw him to the floor and tell Dean to pull himself together, to get some sleep and to never talk like that again. He wants to lock himself in the bathroom and scrub himself raw until he can’t remember what Dean’s breath feels like on his skin or what the gentle pressure of his hands does to John’s touch-starved thighs.

In the end, he doesn’t.

John promises against Dean’s neck: “I’ll never leave you.”

*

John spends weeks avoiding Dean’s eyes, because what he finds there shakes him; makes the earth beneath his feet tremble. Dean looks at him with clear, green intent and John hates himself because he may be strong in every other way but in this, _the one that matters_ , he’s so weak.  

John remembers what Dean’s hands feel like, and he has been alone for _so long_ , and when Dean crawls on top of him one late night in North Dakota, John doesn’t know how to push him away. He wraps his large, sooty hands around Dean’s lithe waist as the fire crackles warm and yellow behind them, _Dean didn’t break the matches this time._

John always prided himself a great soldier, but no man could fight a war at two fronts, and this might just be the battle that does him in because Dean’s nails leave scratches across his skin that brings John to his knees like no monster ever did.

Dean whines against his ear, things that make John’s heart _cry_ but his cock stiff and leaking and he hates himself when he tears Dean’s cheap flannel to shreds and leaves bruises on his hips that will linger for a lifetime. John feels contempt and bile rise in his throat when he puts out the last glimpse of innocence they still had like the burning end of a midnight cigarette and shoves his fingers deep into Dean’s dripping body, earns a filthy moan and John thinks

Perhaps you can’t blame a force of nature; the darkness in his green-eyed boy.

Perhaps Sam wasn’t the avalanche; he just saw it coming and threw himself out of its way.

When John comes thickly and messily into his oldest boy, he sees white before his eyes; _Snowblind_.

Dean is so, so heavy when he collapses on top of him.


End file.
